Words
by Jessiy Landroz
Summary: A small brotherly moment, while healing... [Oneshot]


It was during mid-summer, night time.

We were indoors, because a raging rainstorm was whistling outside.

The trees were leaning backwards and sideways, which ever direction the wind blew. The grass would lean and bend, while the trees would groan or break. The rain would loudly pitter patter against the windowpane, slapping the glass and sliding it's way down, before being slightly shoved or wiped off to another direction by the strong, blowing air.

In the kitchen, when I trudged inside, hoping for a nice, cool drink, I saw him there.

One elbow on the windowsill, the other in a sling, his legs stretched out a bit, crossed at the ankles; he was leaning close to the cool glass, as his hot breath formed clouds there. He had his fist cupping, and his fingers pressed to his chin. He had that calm look on his face, a humble, please smile curved at the corners of his mouth, meaning he was in an extraordinarily good mood.

Thunderstorms always seem to sooth his mind, I don't know why; I think it might be their raging, yet lulling pitter-patter against the glass. I remember when younger, we all used to fear thunderstorms, except for him, he had always been fascinated by them; their cold air, their booming thunder and clapping lightning. He claimed that there was just something impressively magnificent about it, and he liked it.

Well, we don't usually get to see him this quiet, or this relaxed; so I decided to take a risk.

With a small grin forming on my face, stretching across my lips, and my 'weapons' hidden behind my shell, I dare walk up to him, trudging slowly, not wanting to distract him from his sky gazing spot. For some reason, whenever he's sky gazing, he easily tunes everyone out, and no matter how we try to pester or bother him, we never succeed in getting him upset.

Snappy? Yes; but angry? No.

Sitting casually on the free chair opposite of him, with a kitchen table sitting between us, I take out my little harmless weapon and place it on the tabletop. At first, he stayed still, gazing at the sky, as if I did not exist. Nevertheless, I was not fazed by his silence; I remained still, watching him, unmoving from my spot. After a slight twitch of a brow and a soft sigh, he blinked lazily at me, before turning to look down, staring at the item I had placed on the table. He stared at it for a moment, furrowing lightly, as if trying to register what the shell it is.

His eyelids slid up and open, now that he had recognized what I had showed him. His eyes were now more focused, more awake and bemusedly looking at the object I had placed before him.

He looked at me with a faint, weary, yet humored smile, "What do ya have in mind?" he inquired.

I grinned, picked up the item, flipped its lid open, pausing a moment to make a selection, and then took out one of the items it carried. Uncapping the selected, colored item, I extended a hand to him, requesting.

He looked at me wearily, then the corner of his mouth curled, "Don't do somethin' ya might regret." he warned.

I grinned wider, "I won't."

With that, he slipped his arm from the sling, and extended it for me to take. With a giddy sensation of bottled excitement, I gripped his peeking fingers gently, allowing my fingers to curl over his. Carefully, I flipped his hand around and open, now using the item I had selected, to draw on the hard, solid, blank whiteness that protectively coated his arm. With my harmless weapon in my free hand, I started drawing the lines.

At first, I didn't know what to draw, for I did not want to place something I would regret later on, and I do have to admit that I don't have any artistic skills, so what can I add? Then, an idea hit me. Since he didn't seem to mind, I first drew what I hoped looked like grapevines, around the upper and lower collars, decorating it a little, before I started with long, thin strokes, drawing Japanese characters.

I am not exactly the best poet, but I tried to create something that would efficiently convey what I want to say, or express who he is to us, to me, and something that he would not find embarrassing or offensive. The kanji were a bit rough, for they're originally Chinese, and they're a bit crude, drawn by memory, but they were very nice calligraphy material, so to me, and to my eyes, it added a fancy touch to my poor artistic skills.

It took me a while to remember the correct kanji, for the poem I was writing, but he never said a word. He didn't mind, he stayed still, his gaze traveling away from me, and back to the window.

Once done with the poem, I recapped the item, placing it on the table.

I looked at him with a hopeful little smile.

He drew back his arm, staring at the characters and frame I have created, and his face was indifferent for a moment, as his eyes wondered over the words, furrowing a bit, not recognizing some of them. From the time that had passed, I assumed he had read it at least twice or three times, trying to fully understand what was written, though I wondered if it was really that hard for him to understand what I wrote.

_**I**ncarnation_

_**L**ike the earth beneath my feet_

_**O**therworldly heavens beyond my sight_

_**V**ying for balance, for acceptance, for peace_

_**E**verything, shrouded, though with a hint of grace_

_**Y**ielding, your passion keeps burning, warm_

_**O**ur blood, in our veins, flows strong_

_**U**nited, together we fall._

For a moment, mentally, I cursed myself, and took a note. The next time I write a poem to someone in Chinese, I'd better put either furigana atop the kanji, for the sake of simplified characters, or just write simple Japanese, for not all of them can read Chinese as well as I do, if any at all.

Of course, those doubts and discomfort melted away; when he looked up at me. I could see a childlike twinkle in his eyes as he sent me a small smile. A toothy grin spread across his face, and I could tell he was pleased.

"You wrote this?" he inquired, and at my- timid grin and subtle nod, he chuckled; giving a slight negative shake, "I should have known." he stroked his peeking fingers, his fingertips touching the collar casing half his palm.

After a moment, he looked up at me, then down at my leg, and then grinned, silently requesting.

I felt my eye ridges rise up high, and felt a little reluctant; I didn't want to pull my leg up, not on the table, and I didn't feel it was right to make him go down to it's level, either. As if reading my mind, he pushed off his chair and selected another colored item from the pack. He uncapped it with his mouth, seeing he was handicapped, and popped the cap to his hand, before setting it on the table, and then turned to me, twirling the item in his hand expertly, grinning all the way.

Kneeling down, careful with his arm, he propped up one knee, and then grinned up at me, inviting. I felt a bit silly, but his warm, inviting smile encouraged me to just go ahead and do it. I braced myself, and carefully heaved my heavy, handicapped leg off the floor, and set it on his thigh. He held it the best he could with his white-coated hand, before positioning the colored item in his free hand, he started working.

For a long moment, I quietly watched him at work; I wondered what he was doing.

He looked like he was busy with a very delicate and skill-demanding task, his focus purely set to the clear whiteness before him, as the lines danced with ease across its not-so-smooth surface. After a moment, I could recognize the characters of simplified Japanese kanji, a haiku or a poem of sorts, but I couldn't quite make out what was written, or if it was something recognizable.

Strangely, seeing he was using the thin tip of the item, drawing elegant, sleek, graceful lines, as they formed the characters, the words he wrote, I found myself mesmerized by his impressive, admirable calligraphic skill.

Once he was done, he bit the item in his mouth, carefully pinned with his teeth, before picking up the cap, recapping it again. He set it back in its pack, along with the other I had discarded earlier, before looking at me with a hopeful smile.

I smiled down at my leg, reading what he had written there. Clearly, he's just as good in poetry as I am, but he doesn't go for the Chinese haiku, he goes to the more simplified Japanese characters instead.

_**B**ehold the fires, with steadiness, you grasp it tight_

_**R**oaring rage, in your hands, the keys, you are my keeper_

_**O**therworldly lies, beyond this door, lead to nothingness_

_**T**ruth told though the mirrors soul, we join_

_**H**eart is the passion, the soul within me_

_**E**arth is the wisdom, with grace, the mind you wield_

_**R**ebound, is the spirit, the blood we share_

The words he composed were light and gentle, and I recognized a few parts of the poem; it was something we've written together in our youth. When I went over it again, reading, I realized that it carried the same feelings and general atmosphere as the one I had just wrote, but it held a different meaning. It was friendly; encouraging and with a steady flow. His words and phrases were obviously selected with care, and I assumed he had a better memory than mine, because I felt they were more accurate to the poem we're composed when younger.

With a wider smile, I looked up at him, something warm swelling in my chest, "Thank you."

With a slight nod, he smiled back, mirroring my smile, "No, I thank _you_." He said softly.

We smiled at each other in silent appreciation, no more words spoken.

Looking at our once, clear-white casts, we smiled, each fingering his newly decorated cover.

Abruptly, the sky roared like a yawning lion again, and thunder clapped more ferociously, and the storm viciously raged on, rattling the windowpane, threatening to shatter the glass protecting us from the gusts of icy cold air, but did not carry out it's threat. The lights in the house blinked a few times, when thunder clapped once more, before a buzzing sound came, a short-circuit, and then everything went black.

A loud yelp, then a thud could be heard from the living room, as a low grumbling voice could also be heard, soon followed with a raspy chuckle. Recognizing the voices, and imagining what had happened, we looked at each other for a second, before we both shared a chuckle. Thanks to the soft light illuminating the room through the kitchen window, we can see each other just fine, and the soft, brotherly smile on his face made mine stretch a little wider.

"That's probably gonna leave a mark." One brother chuckled, as another voice muttered something unintangible.

Now, stepping out of the darkened living room, and into the kitchen, that had provided more light, one brother stepped into the light, rubbing his snout, before smiling, his wide eyes reflecting the light that clapped outside, almost as if twinkling with life.

"Hey guys! Funny seeing you two here;" He gave a lopsided smirk, looking from one to the other, before he quirked a curious brow ridge, "with the kitchen being so darn quiet, I was sure it was empty."

We just greeted him with simple nods, as our other brother stepped into the light, joining us.

At the sight of us, he smiled a little, his brow ridges arching a bit high. He looked a little amused, though probably more amused of us sharing the same room, and not strangling each other, than anything else.

"Um, I'm gonna go to the cellar to check the power box, I'm guessing a fuse went fritz. It's the third one this week." He sighed with a hint of frustration, "Would one of you like to join me?" he offered, maneuvering his way through the dimly lit kitchen, heading to a nearby cabinet and retrieving a flashlight, and then flicking it on, making sure it had working batteries.

"Nu uh! Not me, no way dude!" one brother whined, holding on to the chair I was sitting on, "It's a freakin' ghost town down there!"

I chuckled, at his childlike antics, and then I looked at my other brother, the one sharing the kitchen table with me, "Want to go? Though I doubt you'd be able to help, not with your broken arm." I reasoned.

At first, he just shot me a flat, annoyed stare, but then let it fall, "Yeah, ya have a point. I think I'll pass." He smiled at our busy brother, before he turned back to addressing me, "And with a broken leg like yers, I don't think ya can help, either." He somewhat teased.

"Yes, I already know that, thank you." I sighed slightly, and then looked at our readying brother, "Sorry. If neither of us is capable of going, then I think you're alone with this one." I smiled apologetically.

He shrugged, indifferent, as if he already knew our answers.

Soon he retrieved the needed fuses from a nearby toolbox; then he made his way down to the cellar. Our youngest brother started twiddling with his fingers, unsure of following, and no more than a minute later, when the sky roared again, he yelped and left us, dashing hurriedly after our departed sibling. His frightened yelp brought a smile to my face; sometimes, I think it sounds funnier than his girly scream.

Again, alone together, I glanced at him; he was staring out the window again, that calm, relaxed smile on his lips. I smiled as well, and gazed out the window, as my free hand traveled down, fingering the hard cast around my leg. I stole a glance at his arm, and smiled as I watching his free hand finger the cast around his palm; absently, his smile stretching a little wider.

After a moment, we looked back at each other, and shared a little smile. Looking out the window, as the roaring rain died down, the sky began to clear. I smiled wider, for after the rain, the sun comes out, shyly peeking from between the cloud.

When it does, you're gifted with the loveliest rainbow.

Its times like this that makes me happy; sharing the moment, the magnificent view with a brother. No matter what our differences are, we're from the same blood, and nothing can come between us.

Nothing at all.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: As usual, I hate the ending, and from what I feel, I have no skills for poetry, sorry… and again, thanks for Cynless for beta reading! XD


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